


Bon Cop de Falç

by SirJosephBanksFRS



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirJosephBanksFRS/pseuds/SirJosephBanksFRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen Maturin is reunited with his godfather, Ramón d'Ullastret i Casademón, to convince him to put Grimsholm Island into British hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bon Cop de Falç

The first great shock to Stephen Maturin upon seeing his godfather, Don Ramón d'Ullastret i Casademón, rapidly approaching him on Grimsholm Island, was how much physically smaller en Ramón had seemingly suddenly become, as well as how much older he now appeared, as accentuated by his curiously shabby, absurd and incongruous military uniform. Of course his _padrí_ had aged, it stood to reason, but there was part of Stephen that had a hard time forming a mental image of en Ramón past his fortieth year though that was almost twenty years beforehand. His thick, wavy very dark hair was thinner and grizzled throughout now, his handsome craggy face now angular and bony, his hazel eyes now had marked glaucous blue rings around the bottom edges of his irises, the _arcus senilis_ , starting to circumnavigate en Ramón's irises, dimming the sharpness of his previously aquiline gaze. Nonetheless, his eyes were now lit with unrestrained joy in recognising Stephen standing there before him. **  
**

Ramón embraced him more tightly than Stephen had ever recalled and did not release him until nearly two entire minutes had passed.

"Esteve, come, you must come to my quarters and change into dry clothes at once. The chill and wind are _molt perrilos,_ " Ramón said, finally and he took Stephen's hand as though they were leaving la Catedral de la Santa Creu i Santa Eulàlia in Barcelona, stepping outside to the square to dance the sardana and Stephen could not suppress a smile, to be injected into life with en Ramón so immediately and thoroughly as though he had never left Ullastret.

Ramón led the way to a three story building that served as the chief command and residence on the island and then dismissed his various and assorted underlings from the building that he and Stephen might have complete privacy but for one sentry outside. Stephen looked around the drawing room and thought how it seemed his _padrí_ was apparently even more unfortunately taken with having followers and the thrill of command than he had been back in Stephen's youth. "No wonder he is so wrapped up with this foolishness," Stephen thought, "I should never think clearly myself with such a retinue of hangers on and sycophants such as he has and of course he does, for such is the curse of his wealth and power at home."

He had observed the obvious pleasure Ramón had taken in the salutes of the men they had passed, drawing himself up and returning them and it pained Stephen to see this transparent vanity, so comically manifested in his godfather, his odd pretense at anything resembling a military air after a lifetime as a civilian. The respect which he was now accorded by these scores of his fellow Catalans had everything to do with his deeply rooted personal relationships with these men, most of whom he had met and known for more than a decade and little to do with any formal knowledge of command. Discussing military manoeuvres had been an avocation in Ramón's relative youth, as he had spent many long nights discussing cavalry and artillery strategy and military history with Stephen's father, an Irish volunteer stationed as a _Commandante_ in the Spanish forces, quartered in Barcelona's hated Ciutadella. They would discuss manoeuvres whilst they played cards and chess into the wee hours in Ramón's comfortable apartments in Barcelona. But Ramón was nothing of the professional warrior in any way, however exuberant and enthusiastic his leadership.

Don Ramón was an extraordinary and accomplished man. This absurdly inauthentic self-aggrandisement and thirst for command reflected very poorly on him, in Stephen’s view. The tendency, he now mused, had always been worse in larger groups of men, particularly strangers of rank, as though en Ramón suddenly found the need to prove himself to be first amongst his fellows. It was as though he were a child once more back at Sant Cugat, proving he was not just a provincial boy from backward, quaintly ancient and tiny Roman Ullastret, competing with the polished, sophisticated and cosmopolitan _Barcelonis_ , who drolly mimicked his Empordà accent and rustic Catalan.

Ramón beamed as his last aide de camp, Queralt, backed his way bowing out of the room to stand at the end of the hall and Stephen looked away in embarrassment. His _padrí_ had never behaved this way in Ullastret unless there were members of _la Germandat_ there from outside of Empordà or there were members of the other autonomist groups, especially the most successful leaders from Barcelona, especially in large groups. Then, en Ramón's need to lead and draw attention to himself reminded Stephen of one of Ullastret's geldings from his boyhood, who had to be out in front of all the horses or he would balk, no matter how slow or ill-suited he was to the task. Sitting next to Ramón, it startled Stephen to realise from whence his long deceased _cosina_ , Laetitia, had gotten some of her endless need to always be the centre of attention and how very much he could see of her in her father at the moment, an observation that had eluded him altogether up until that very moment, despite it having been more than twenty years since her untimely death.

“How could the leaders of all three of _les assemblees_ have been such fools as to truly believe that Joseph Buonaparte, el Pepe Botella, would actually do anything for Catalunya besides having his men rape and pillage Barcelona, taking her treasures for himself, both sacred and secular, on his way out of Spain back to France, the thieving dog?” Stephen thought. “He is actually worse than els Borbons, worse than that fool of a monarch, Ferdinand. Can dear, dear Montserrat be safe from him and his brigands? Shall the blessed _Mare de Déu_ and her altar be hacked apart and smelted to supply him a larger service of gold flatware, as was done in Madrid? Such a thing is far more likely than anything resembling Catalan independence, given he is poised to permanently flee Spain this instant." He said none of this aloud, knowing how much it would offend Ramón, since it was a direct criticism of his own judgment and that of the rest of the _la Germandat_.

They settled into the small sitting room after Stephen had changed. Stephen was taken aback then to see that suddenly en Ramón was actually weeping, though he was struggling to hide it and suppress all sounds. Stephen took him in his arms, feeling with shock the wasting of the previously dense musculature of his formerly massive upper back and shoulders, how small Ramón now was and he felt tears well up in his own eyes, feeling the cold shadow upon his heart of that eventual permanent separation, the cruel reality of _anno_ _domini._

"You have not come home in so many years," Ramón said, choking on his tears, swallowing them. "But I weep only with happiness to see you, my very dear Esteve.”

"I came to Ullastret only three years past and you were abroad. It has not been so easy to travel, with the war dragging on and on and the French occupying Spain, _el meu Padrí_."

"How is it you have come all the way here when you have not been home in so very, very long?"

"Knowing of our connexion, officials in _Londres_ at the Admiralty of the Royal Navy asked me to bring you a message from His Britannic Majesty and so I came immediately, _Padrì_. But how on earth did _la Germandat, la Confederació_ and _la Lliga_ end up here, manning a garrison for Buonaparte? How did you come to be here, leading a Catalan brigade in support of the French, of Buonaparte? I confess, I was wholly stunned to learn this fact. Never in life would I have imagined it, _Padrí._ Buonaparte is no friend of ours. The French are no friends to our cause, not in the smallest particle. Did you not tell me so repeatedly in my boyhood, telling me over and over of the tragedy of Roselló and 1659, that Catalunya is divided because of their perfidy? Did they not rob our ancestors’ lands in Rosselló from them, in what they now call “Roussillon” when that part of Catalunya became France? Have they not made speaking Catalan a crime in Northern Catalunya since 1700, for over a hundred years now? Did the First Republic not worsen the situation for Northern Catalunya, let alone this disaster of an Empire? Did you not tell me over and over that we could never trust them? Does Barcelona now forget that the Hospitallers were ejected from Malta in 1799 upon Buonaparte's orders?"

Ramón looked sheepish and said nothing.

"Where is l'Enric? All of these men about and I see no sign of l'Enric. I should have thought I would have seen him first before anyone, he is always so diligent in his service to you," Stephen said. Ramón's face crumpled further at these words.

"You did not get my letter, _fillol? El pobret_ l'Enric died on Sant Nebridi's Day last year, six weeks before we left Barcelona to come here," Ramón said, sorrowfully.

Stephen felt tears in his own eyes once more and looked up and saw Ramón's eyes filled with tears. The entire folly of en Ramón's presence was explained. The sudden loss of Enric Picasso had propelled Ramón's course in coming to Grimsholm, both in terms of the profound melancholy it must have engendered in him and the tremendous loss of that good, wise man and his always valuable counsel, for he had always been a modulating and restraining influence on en Ramón's wilder flights of fancy. Distantly related as fifth cousins, l'Enric was Ramón's lifelong friend as well as his chief man of business, the only person aside from Stephen that en Ramón trusted implicitly with his life. His death must have been the catalyst by which Ramón had been talked into participating in this hare-brained, ill-considered scheme, Stephen thought.

L'Enric was the very first Catalan whom Stephen had ever recalled meeting. It was he who had gone the more than a thousand miles from Barcelona to Ireland to retrieve Stephen to return him to Catalunya as a very small boy before he was breeched and had done him so many kindnesses over the years. The last occasion that Stephen had been in Barcelona, three years beforehand, L'Enric had gone to great pains to arrange a meeting with the great blind Catalan naturalist and monk, Brother Xavi Llach, who had then spent two days with Stephen, explaining his method for identifying the flora of Catalunya by touch, scent and taste and it had increased Stephen's knowledge and ability to identify and remember flora exponentially. L'Enric had ridden over sixteen hours to Montserrat and back in that case, to arrange the meeting for Stephen's gratification.

"How?" Stephen said. "How did it come to pass?"

"He had just returned to Ullastret from Barcelona and he fell ill after sopar that evening. He was the only one of us who fell ill. He had a terrible pain in his gut. L'Enric never again left the bed. I sent Biel on Dídac’s grandson, Ximo for _el metge_ , Dr Sabater but by the time he came, it was too late. He said it was the iliac passion. L'Enric was in the bed for three days, moaning in agony, but so brave, Esteve, never complaining, may God be with him and may he rest in peace. Ullastret is so very empty now," Ramón said. "When Puyol came from Barcelona with a delegation from _la Germandat_ and the plans for this brigade, of course I agreed. I was so happy to leave Ullastret and Barcelona as well, to get away."

They sat in silence and finally, Stephen pulled out his tobacco from his pouch, rolled a cigar and offered it to Ramón, who accepted it very gratefully. They smoked in silence and Stephen finished his cigar first and then reached into his bag and brought out a bottle of very old cognac. Ramón rose and retrieved glasses for them and Stephen poured them each a generous amount in Swedish crystal glasses. They touched their glasses together to Ramón's cry of _"Visca Catalunya!"_ and drank. Stephen put his glass down.

 _"Llavors, Padrí,_ the French are being driven entirely out of Spain by Wellington as of this very moment. Any promises made to the officers of this brigade by them were nothing but a tissue of lies, as they have so done with all their erstwhile allies, time and again. I have brought the proof with me in many documents. It matters not what ill-conceived entente was brokered between the Catalan groups and the French,” Stephen said. Ramón was silent, listening attentively.

Stephen took Ramón’s glass and poured him another cognac. "In any case, this is their treachery, _Padrí:_ you, personally, are about to be supplanted. General Oudinot is acting to replace you and the entire brigade within the next day or so. The men will end up absorbed into the greater Spanish forces, to be dispersed immediately throughout central Europe. You shall be offered a command in Italy for them to rid themselves of you. You have been far too effective here and have too much personal authority with the men and they resent it extremely." Ramón regarded him somberly. "I come here to do my duty to our Catalunya, just as you said that I should in time, as we sat on the banks of the Henare and Jarama outside of Madrid, that night when I was a boy. Of course, I seek also to aid the Church and the Holy Father, for he is imprisoned now as we speak, imprisoned for excommunicating the rogue. I take it neither you nor the others were aware of that fact?"

"No," Ramón said quietly.

"You must direct the brigade to turn Grimsholm over into British hands, now. Lead these men so that they might ever go home and not end up dead, their bones scattered all over Silesia. Only with your leadership will they do this now, what is best for them, for _la_ _Germandat, la Confederació, i la Lliga_ and more importantly, for Catalunya. Without, there shall be no _assemblees_ left in Catalunya at all. Our entire network of autonomist leadership shall be utterly destroyed, not to be re-established for another thirty years. Only with your decisive action now is there any possibility they might live to someday to die at home in Catalunya. You must convince them, _Padrí._ I can put sheaves of documents before you to prove the truth of every word that I have spoken, for you to use when discussing this situation with your subordinate officers, but time is of the essence."

" _Ai,_ Esteve," Ramón sighed. "How shall we return to Barcelona, _el meu fill?"_

"Do you remember after the end of the Peace, in the year three, when you came to Roselló and I was there with my particular friend, the English sea captain, the man who was so very sick, almost comatose with the mountain fever? He was _Capitá_ John Aubrey, the great naval hero who took the _Cacafuego_. He has been sent here to receive you with all due honours and to escort the transports back to Barcelona. Our people are esteemed very highly by the British. We are to be accorded every consideration, you especially, _Padrí,_ as befits your position and your rank as the _Coronel,_ leading these men."

"And you, _fillol?_ You have have not come home to Ullastret in almost eight years. Will you come home now? Wilt thou never return to Catalunya to stay, for more than a week or two?"

"If I might stay in Catalunya when we arrive, I will. When the war is over, I may come and stay far longer," Stephen said. "At least for many, many months. I wish to do so and I say this with all my heart. But Buonaparte is a tyrant, the worst sort of tyrant and what I do by coming here, I do for Catalunya, _Padrí._ The British will end the war into which this monster has plunged the entirety of Europe, but they need your aid, _Padrí._ They cannot do it without your aid and they come seeking an alliance with you."

"Like Lord Peterborough and my grandfather?" Ramón said, looking at him earnestly.

"Quite so," Stephen said, smiling and he looked up and then realised that Ramón was staring down at his godson's bare hands.

"Estevet, _el meu fill,_ " Ramón said very slowly, calling Stephen by the diminutive he had not heard in decades, "my very, very dear Estevet, what terrible thing has happened to your hands?" Stephen looked down and said nothing. "Will you not tell me?"

"It is of no significance; it is nothing," Stephen said, resisting the urge to hide his hands, as it would be so transparent as to be verging on rudeness, despite the tactlessness of Ramón's inquiry and his nakedly avid gaze.

"That is not nothing." Ramón said, obviously aggrieved and he took Stephen's hand from which the nails had been torn into his own.

 _"Padrí,_ it is but an old injury," Stephen said, knowing fully that Ramón would not let it drop. Stephen's habit was extreme ire at such presumption, but this was his _padrí,_ the only approximation of a father he had ever known, the person in whose arms Stephen had been carried home from Mass when as a very small boy, he was too exhausted to walk. He still possessed a great deal of filial piety for Ramón. He would suffer this indignity with unusual forbearance, however unhappily.

"That is not just an injury; those injuries and scars are nearly perfectly symmetrical, each hand to the other," Ramón said. "What happened to you? Who did this to you? When did it happen?"

"I was taken prisoner on Menorca by the French in the year five. It looks far worse now than it is. I am virtually completely recovered," Stephen said and he smiled wanly.

 _"El meu Déu,_ they did this to you?" Ramón said, appalled. "For what? To what end?"

"It was when I went to Maó to arrange a meeting with some men in _la Confederació,_ immediately after I last saw you. Within two days of my arrival, I was informed upon and taken for a spy by the French. I was not the only one, several other members of _la Confederació_ were taken as well. As I said, the French are no friends to Catalan autonomy and they feared _la Confederació_ was in league with the British, that they were using Maó as a base. This was one of their methods of persuasion to engender greater candor on my part. I assumed you had heard, that it had been well known in Empordà after it had filtered back to Catalunya from Menorca, given what a gabbling, prating, incestuous clan the Menorcan autonomists are." This was all true. Stephen was amazed that the news of his interrogation had not made it up and down the entire coast of Catalunya. Only the internecine conflict and the jealous rivalry between _la_ _Confederació_ and _la Germandat_ could account for this peculiar omission.

"They tortured you? _Quinas béstias!_ Why have you never told me this, Esteve? What manner of men are those _cafres?_ The _y_ are surely worse than the Moors. _Quins salvatges, hereteges, malànimas!_ That is as bad as anything of the Inquisition! _Quin horror! "_   Ramón said, his outrage boiling over. _"Ai, el meu Déu, ai la meva Mare de Déu sagrada!_ How could you not tell me such a thing? Are we so estranged now, _el meu fill?_ Have we been so estranged for eight long years? What have I done to warrant so little confidence on your part?" Stephen shook his head emphatically in protest.

"No, _Padrì_ , no. Truly, I thought that you knew and I only never mentioned it because I did not wish you to worry further. I never speak of it then or now because I wish to put it behind me," Stephen said. "I was unwell for a very long time afterwards. I beg your pardon, truly, _el meu Padrí. Perdoneu_. I know my confidence is well-placed in you, that I need not fear any indiscretion, that I may rely upon you wholly as I always have and I always shall, just as you have so honoured me since childhood.” Ramón flushed deeply, rose and went to the door. He opened it and called out to the functionary down the hallway.

"Queralt! Call for _els comandants_ to come as soon as they might, if you please. Casals, Puyol, Ariet, Savall -- they must all come at once. Call for my _tinent,_ Bellet, to report to me as well," Ramón said and closing the door, he turned to Stephen. " _Entesos,_ Esteve, let us prepare those documents now, _sis plau,_ that we will be ready when they arrive." Stephen Maturin smiled as he rose from his chair, placed his valise on the large table by the fireplace and pulled out sheaves of papers.

 

 


End file.
